Ghost Stories
by AngieT
Summary: Frodo, Sam and Merry go on their first adventure.


Title: Things That Go Bump in the Night

Author: Angie

PG. Little hobbit angst.

No profit, no gain, no ownership; only wishing and longing and dreaming.

Thanks to Maura for Betaring above and beyond the call of duty.

Shire reckoning 1391. According to Mr Tolkien Frodo is 23, Sam 11, Merry 9, and Pippin a sweet little one year old (and will therefore not be making an appearance yet). Frodo is living with Bilbo, Merry comes to stay and chaos ensues.

In a small lean-to in the shelter of a shallow cave at the foot of the mountain three hobbits sat around a small lamp eating their supper. The wind was howling a storm outside their den and the rain lashing down mere feet away. In the occasional lull between squalls other noises could be heard – the cries of animals, howling; and more than once a strange sniffing noise could be heard outside the shelter of canvas and wood.

"So what happened?" asked Merry, trying to bolster his confidence with another bite of a fruit filled bun.

"Well," continued Frodo. "Everyone had told him not to build so close to the old forest. And after the night of the Great Storm, when the big branch came down off the party tree and Mrs Underhill had her chimney blown down, no one ever saw anything of the family again. Their old burrow is still there but no one will go near it now – they say – on windy nights, the ghost of Mr Burrows comes back, searching for his lost family."

"That's awful," shuddered Sam, wishing he was back and safe in his own bed, tucked in and warm.

"I should like to go and see the place!" blustered Merry. "See if it is really true."

"You would not!" retorted his elder cousin.

"I would so too!" reiterated Merry.

At that moment the wind died down again and in the quiet the three hobbits could hear the sound of something shuffling towards the tent. Merry forgot his bravado and clutched at Sam with a little squeak of fear. Sam, who was inches from bolting himself, clutched back.

The thing came closer and closer still. It obviously knew where they were and heading direct for their tent. All three hobbits held their breath in an agony of suspense. The sounds stopped directly outside the tent flap. It had found them!

"Hello lads," said Bilbo, sticking his head in at the makeshift tent's door. "I just came in to see you had enough supper?"

"Bilbo!" sighed Frodo exasperated. "We are on an adventure. We are camping at the foot of the Misty Mountains, miles away from the Shire, surrounded by Wargs, and you cannot just come along and ask us if we want any extra supper!"

Bilbo looked contrite. "I am sorry, my lads. Most inconsiderate of me. I shall go away and just have to eat all these jam tarts by myself then."

Merry whimpered involuntarily. No warg was as frightening to a 9 year old hobbit as having jam tarts taken away from him. As the leader of the expedition Frodo took pity.

"Thank you Bilbo. We can say we stole the tarts from the trolls after they had been turned to stone."

"A very sensible idea my lad," agreed Bilbo. "And I promise not to interrupt again."

Soon the three hobbit boys were sticky from eating jam tarts and had quite forgotten their fright. Frodo was a little too good at conjuring up scary stories – whether they be tales of Bilbo's adventures, stories from books, or the local gossip of Hobbiton. He had a talent for making things seem real and immediate. With sticky hands and mouth Merry flopped back onto his bedroll. "You should have seen your face, Sam! You really thought Mr Burrows was coming to get you!"

"I did not!" retorted Sam. "You were the one making all the racket."

"I only made a noise to frighten you!" Merry protested.

"You did not!"

"Did too!"

"Stop it you two," said Frodo licking off his fingers. "You will have Bilbo back out to see what we are up to."

"Sissy!" muttered Merry, easily clear enough for Sam to hear.

"Am not!"

Frodo sighed. "I wish we could have a Real Adventure, and not just have to pretend all the time. I love Bilbo but he does fuss over me. And camping in the back orchard at Bag End is not really so much of an adventure."

"I wouldn't want to have an adventure," said Sam like the true hobbit he was. "It's all nice and well reading about them by the fire but not so nice when you are up to your ears in one."

"I should love to have a Real Adventure," responded Merry. "You are just scared to go on one Sam."

"I am not."

"Oh, yes you are! If you saw a troll you would run a mile."

"So would you if you got any sense!" Sam had quite forgotten his status as lowly gardener's son to the future Master of Buckland.

"When Frodo lived at Brandy Hall we had adventures all the time."

That was guaranteed to set Sam off. Sam was very protective of his friendship with Master Frodo and did not like to be reminded that Merry had a prior claim besides that of cousin.

"As if you could have an adventure! Why you were only a toddler then," reminded Sam with all the weight of his two years' advantage in age over the young Brandybuck.

Merry pouted enormously.

Frodo had been silent through out this exchange. He was musing to himself as was his wont but now he spoke up. "We could have an adventure right now."

The squabblers fell silent.

"The Burrows smial is not far from here. We could nip out and be back before Bilbo knew we had gone."

"But it's the middle of the night!" Sam protested uncertainly. He would follow his Master Frodo to the ends of Middle-earth and back but he was not sure he wanted to go to a reputedly ruined and haunted smial.

"It's only just after supper!" scorned Merry. "I think it is a fine idea. And we could go through the orchard and see if there are any windfalls."

"What do you say, Sam?" asked Frodo, with with his blue eyes shining and full of the scheme, and Sam could not refuse. Whatever Master Frodo wanted was all right by Samwise Gamgee. That, and he could see the scornful look on Merry's face, knowing the younger boy was just waiting for him to refuse so he could call him coward again.

The trek up through the old orchard was made in the early twilight. There was plenty of light to see by and the boys took turns pouncing out on each other from behind trees and pelting one another with squishy windfallen apples. As they neared the denser pack of trees that was the small band of woodland, and it started to get darker they calmed down.

"How do you know where this place is?" Sam tried not to whisper against the encroaching twilight.

"Bilbo brought me here once. When I first came to stay at Bag End. Mr Burrows had a lad of my age; Bilbo thought I might make friends with him."

Sam shivered. "Was he the boy who vanished?"

"Yes, he and his mother and little sisters. They all disappeared the night of the Great Storm while Mr Burrows was in The Green Dragon," said Frodo.

"It's a horrible story!" said Merry with relish.

"Sad, more like. Fancy coming home and finding your whole family gone, and then never seeing them again."

A little fitful breeze stirred up and whirled round a collection of fallen leaves in eerie counterpoint to Sam's soft words. At that moment too a cloud chose to scud across the moon and shadows ran over the path and made the bushes seem to jump out. Sam trotted to catch up to Frodo's side and slipped his hand into the older boy's. Frodo squeezed reassuringly. "Not far now."

Even Merry had gone silent as they approached the long-abandoned dwelling. Bravado, like adventures, was all very well in warm comfortable safety but quite a different thing out on a dark and windy night. There was something subduing too about the dark mass of the low hill before them. The Burrows smial had been built as a half-burrow, half-house, into the hill but with a front end of bricks and a wooden roof which was now caved in.

Sam tightened his grip on Frodo's hand. He did not like this. The place was sad and dark. He did not like to think of the family who had lived there once all being dead and gone. Or the ghost of their poor father looking for his wife and children. The front door with its two side windows seemed to gape forlornly framing the deeper darkness beyond.

The three hobbit lads stood contemplating the sight; as they watched, the moon came out from behind the clouds again and shone on the scene.

"Come on," said Frodo. "Let's explore."

Merry and Sam held back, letting Frodo lead. And so it was that when Frodo creaked open the remains of the front door and entered they were a few paces behind him.

Moonlight filtered in through the collapsed roof illuminating strange shapes. There was a table on its side in the centre of the room, and a tub in one corner which might have been for washing. Everywhere was a litter of dead leaves, crackling under wary feet. Plants and bushes had taken to growing out of the floor and there was the sweet smell of evening primrose.

Sam hung back at the doorway, not liking the sad room. Frodo crossed the floor and made for another opening which lead into the smial proper. Merry poked about.

The moon chose that moment to go behind a cloud again and for a moment the room was plunged into darkness. Sam held still, not daring to move, hardly liking even to breath. His ears strained in the darkness picking up every rustle of leaf -- and then suddenly the night exploded into noise. There was an eerie long-drawn-out creaking groan, the sound of old wood giving way, a sharp cry of fear, all the sounds seeming to come on top of each other and culminating in a rushing, splintering noise.

Sam was frozen to the spot in fear. He could not move, he dared not move.

Then the moon came out again and it seemed like full daylight after the darkness. The milky white light illuminated the room again, and for a moment Sam could not tell what had happened. Merry stood frozen by the upturned tub. The room seemed still.

"What was it?" Merry squeaked.

"I... Mr Frodo!"

In the darkest part of the room, at the back by the tunnel entrance, there was now an extra deep patch of darkness. Sam rushed forwards.

"Keep back!" cried a voice.

"Frodo?"

"Down here."

Carefully Sam edged forwards and peered into the gloom.

A little way beneath what had been the floor Frodo's face seemed to sit in a pale oval of moonlit illumination, suspended in surrounding darkness.

"Where are you?" Sam asked at the same moment as Merry said, "Where are you?"

Sam could hear Frodo's panted breaths. "I fell. Through the floor. There's a cellar below or something."

"Can you pull yourself up?" Sam asked.

There was the sound of movement, then Frodo's voice, even more breathless and with an edge of pain to it. "No, I'm stuck. Some of the flooring came down with me. I can't pull myself up and I can't reach the floor below."

"What are we going to do?" wailed Merry.

"Rope," said Sam. "We need some rope, and some help."

"Bilbo will skin us alive!" Merry worried.

"Sam," called Frodo. "Take Merry, get Bilbo and your Gaffer. Tell them what happened."

"I can't leave you!" Sam cried desperately.

"Merry can't go by himself and you can't help me here," Frodo pleaded.

"Merry could stay with you,"

"No," Frodo's voice drifted up to them. "Something else might collapse. Take him with you. I want him safe."

With tears streaming down his face Sam took Merry's hand. "We'll be right back!" he promised and went.

Frodo dangled in the darkness. He had fallen through rotten flooring and was stuck now, held secure by splintered wood. He tried reaching out with his feet for a purchase but could find none; he had an idea the cellar floor must still be a way below him. The movement dug wood shards into his side and caused him to catch his breath.

For a moment, there in the dark by himself, he came close to panic. The moon kept drifting behind clouds and could not be relied upon to provide him with light. The wind had sprung up again creating myriad noises in the empty smial and in the woods around it.

Frodo felt tears prickling at the back of his eyes and he took a deep breath trying to calm himself and found he could not even do that. A sharp pain pierced his side, there was the sound of cloth tearing and he slid a few more inches into darkness driving more splinters into his waist. His arms were trapped by his sides and there was no way he could slow his descent or push himself upwards. He was fairly stuck.

It was the most awful feeling; his feet kicking in mid air, his body trapped and the pain of the wood in his flesh. He was sure the skin was torn in some places. He was helpless and could only hang there afraid that further attempts to free himself might plunge him further down into darkness and an unknown landing. There could be anything beneath him – broken glass, or a deeper pit of fallen earth.

He could not imagine how awful it would be for Sam to return with a rescue party to find Frodo with a broken neck in the cellar. He felt a pang of conscience that he would be the cause of so much heartache for his guardian.

Time crawled by with no means of judging it. He tried to imagine in his head how far the others could have got. Mentally he retraced their route; they must have reached Bag End by now.

The wind died and the moon cleared its latest cloud and Frodo found himself looking up at a shadow that filled the doorway. A bulky shadow – too tall for the hobbit lads, or for Bilbo, so tall in fact it had to stoop to enter at the doorway, and it was moving towards him.

Frodo cried out in wordless shock and fear and the moon vanished again.

"Who's there?" Frodo cried. "Who is that?"

There was no answer. Frodo was sure his heart was going to burst out of his chest with fright. Surely he had not imagined the figure? He must have. A trick of moonlight and cloud shadow.

A shambling step, then another, moved towards him.

Furiously Frodo tried to twist his body again, not caring for tearing shirt or skin. He had to get free!

Breathing. Over the sound of the breeze. Coming closer. The creaking of floorboards. More steps.

A hand descended onto Frodo's shoulder and the young hobbit gave out a shriek like a kettle too long on the hearth. He tore and squirmed in total terror now desperate to free himself.

"Stay still," commanded a voice. "Do not move or you will hurt yourself."

Despite his instincts Frodo froze. It hurt too much to move anyway. The clouds chose that moment to part again. There was a pale oval of hooded face kneeling by him. Strong hands had him by the shoulders. He had an impression of a bulky body and of weapons, a jeweled ring on one finger. Then the clouds betrayed the moon to night again.

"I will pull you free," came the low voice. It spoke in a strange accent Frodo at first had trouble understanding.

Hands slid in under his armpits and Frodo found himself in a strong grip that pulled upwards. He was lifted clear of the hole, reluctant splinters clinging to him, hauled upwards until his feet were far above the ground and then carried round, out of the door (so he judged) and set down suddenly on cool grass and dried leaves. His legs gave way and he sat down of a sudden.

"Are you hurt?" The voice was soft and full of concern and did not seemed to go with the lumbering shape that knelt by the hobbit.

Frodo clutched at his sides and tried to breath normally, but he was still too frightened and shocked. Hands reached out again and ran over his body checking for injuries. "Cuts and bruises mostly I think." Frodo could smell pipeweed, leather and horse on his helper's clothing.

"Frodo! Frodo!" There were voices not far off now, the crashing of hobbits moving fast, not attempting to cover their tracks. "Frodo!"

Frodo had the impression of long legs and black boots as the hooded figure gained his feet, and then they were lost as the man ran for the shelter of the deeper part of the woods and was gone.

Bilbo was breathless but still managed to lead the little group of hobbits who ran into the clearing. He reached Frodo first, picking out the figure in the light of his waving lamp. There were others; Sam and Merry, and Sam's Gaffer with a length of robe coiled over his shoulder.

Bilbo fell to his knees by Frodo's side and caught the lad up. He hugged him close and then held him at arm's length to shake him. "A fair fright you've given us lad."

"I'm sorry," Frodo some how managed to choke out. He felt dizzy and weak and wondered if he was going to be sick. The situation seemed unreal and he was not sure what had happened. The damp grass beneath his legs seemed more real to him than anything else.

A cloak was thrown about his shoulders and he realised his teeth were chattering. Bilbo ran his hands over Frodo's limbs. "Are you hurt?"

"Just bruised I think..."

"How did you get out of the hole?" Merry demanded, his young voice even higher with fright and breathlessness from running.

"I don't .... There was..."

"Shush!" Bilbo hugged Frodo close for a moment. "We need to get you home and then you can tell us all about it."

Later that night after a warm bath with comfrey sprinkled in it Frodo was tucked up in his own bed in a clean nightshirt. His body stung from numerous little cuts and scrapes he had acquired. Bilbo had been picking splinters out of the little hobbit for a good half hour and muttering such soothing comments as, "Well, you only have yourself to blame."

Frodo was duly contrite. He could hardly keep his eyes open now but he forced himself to sit up.

"Bilbo. I am very, very sorry."

Bilbo came over to sit on his cousin's bedside. "I know you are lad, and I'm not going to punish you. I think you punished yourself very efficiently." The older hobbit reached out to lay a hand against the lad's cheek. "Just think next time how you would have grieved me had you broken your neck."

"I will."

Bilbo lifted the covers as Frodo slipped down under them. The old hobbit leant over to kiss the pale forehead. "Goodnight, my boy."

"Goodnight, Bilbo."

As soon as the old hobbit had padded off down the corridor Merry and Sam peeked in at the door.

"Are you all right?" Merry asked, looking rather scared.

Frodo yawned. "Just sleepy."

So sleepy in fact that he was asleep even before Merry and Sam had clambered up onto the bed and snuggled down on either side of him to sleep.

Bilbo checked in on the three boys later in the night – or rather – earlier in the morning – before slipping out himself.

Packing up a basket of provisions he found his way to the old smial in the woods and, as expected, was greeted with the sight of a tall figure sitting beneath a tree.

"Hello Estel," Bilbo greeted. "I thought I recognised the signs."

The Ranger bowed his head to his old friend. "It was by chance I was this far across the borders."

"And I am very grateful for it. Thank you for rescuing Frodo."

"At the time I did not realise it was your young cousin."

Recalling himself Bilbo set down the basket, then drew from his pocket a small package and handed it over. "I nearly forgot. Some Old Toby for you."

"Thank you," Estel bowed again. "I must be away before full light. It would not do for me to be seen."

Bilbo looked at the old smial – looking forlorn in its abandonment. "We own the rangers a great dept for our safety. Would that the family who lived here had been so fortunate. No warg would dare to come so near now." The old hobbit sighed. "We live in darker times than when I was a lad."

Bilbo shivered in the pre dawn chill. "Well, you must be on your way. Thank you again Estel."

Bilbo bustled off into the wood - his thoughts already on breakfast - and Aragorn watched the little hobbit go.

end


End file.
